Words Cannot Say
by BlameThePlotBunnies
Summary: The day that Inspector Robbie Lewis was no more. Hathaway's POV. Established (basically mentioned without detail) M/M relationship. Warning: Major Character Death. I should also add that, as the cover may give away, this is also archived on my Wattpad as 'Demise'. My bad, I'll sort the cover when I've got time, I promise!


Today, a piece of DS James Hathaway died. It was unexpected, because it was the biggest piece of him, the healthiest piece. Today, he lost his boss; his mentor; his lover and his friend. He can't say it aloud yet, it would make it too real, too painful. Before long though, he must, for no one else is going to inform CS Innocent, their boss, or Dr Laura Hobson, Robbie's closest and oldest friend. The hospital will inform his daughter and son, thank God. It saves him the pain of trying to comfort them, whilst breaking apart himself. He should tell them, but he knows there's no way he can bear it.

He calls Laura first.

"James?" she says sleepily "It's three in the morning man! What's the matter?"

James finds the words stick in his throat.

"James? James are you there?"

"I'm here." He manages to croak.

Worried more by his empty voice than by his earlier silence, Laura suddenly becomes more alert, firing off questions and suggestions: "What on earth's going on? James? Look, where are you? Did you and Robbie have a fight? I'll come and find you-"

"We're never going to have another fight Laura." James says quietly.

"What? Of course you are! Did you break up you silly pair?"

"Laura, he's gone."

"He's gone off somewhere? Oh, James, you know Robbie, give him some time to cool off and he'll come back."

"He's not coming back Laura! He's dead." And suddenly it hits him, hard, and the dam in his chest bursts and he collapses against the nearest wall, sobbing, clutching the phone to his ear like it's his only lifeline. "He's dead…" he whispers again and again, and each time it hurts a little more. He'll die, he thinks, he'll surely die from the pain of it.

"James, where are you?" Laura asks, urgently, after a very long, silent pause. Her voice seems miles away from him, barely making it to his ears

"The Radcliffe." He hears himself choke out, in between deep, wracking sobs over which he has no control

"I'm on my way sweetheart." He nods, gasps an agreement and ends the call. The phone tumbles from his numb hand and bounces away as he slides down the wall onto the sterile grey linoleum. Curling into a ball, lowering his face to his knees and wrapping his arms over the back of his head as a shield, he sobs as though his heart is breaking. Probably because it is.

Time blurs. He could have sat there for a minute, or an hour, or a day. All he knows is that there is nothing, nothing but the pain, until he breathes a familiar flowery scent. Lilies, he registers dimly. Laura's perfume smells like lilies. Then there is a warmth around him as arms, smaller and not so strong as he is used to, but equally as comforting, curl protectively around him and hold him tightly.

"That's right," Laura's voice is whispering somewhere above and to his left, as she cradles him in her lap "let it all out sweetheart. Let it all out." He cries and cries until his eyes run dry and his throat is raw and burning, and then he lays in silence in her arms, eyes gritty and wide, bone-deep shudders running through him until eventually even those fade away, leaving him feeling drained and empty. And through it all she holds him, tight and warm and safe, deflecting the funny looks and the questions and leaving him free to grieve for the biggest loss he's ever felt. He'll be so grateful to her, when he can feel something other than pain like an endless coil of barbed wire being pulled through his heart. Right now, it's all he can do to sit up as his wide, staring eyes pick out the Chief Super approaching them.

"I asked her to go straight up and deal with her side of it before she came looking for us." Laura whispers in his ear, gently stroking his hair, which had grown out of its usual close crop a few months before and has since taken on the texture of the finest silk, back out of his face as he sits up. James nods, blankly. He can't bear to think that the body of the man he loves is still here, empty and growing cold, all alone. Just a shell, he reminds himself. Only the physical remains when the spirit rises.

"James." Jean Innocent is gazing down at him, her eyes showing her own hurt, and sympathising with his. "I am so very, very sorry. Words cannot say."

James opens his mouth and, after a moment, closes it again. She's right. Words cannot say.


End file.
